Abastecimiento del Área Metropolitana de Bilbao

The popul a r no on of s ci ence fic on, I gues s , i s of a s tory tha t ta kes s ome pos s i bl e or i mpos s i bl e technol ogi ca l gi mmi ck-of- the-future—Soyl ent Green, the ti me ma chi ne, the s ubma ri ne—a nd ma kes ha y out of i t. There certa i nl y a re s ci ence fi cti on s tori es whi ch do jus t tha t, but to defi ne s ci ence fi cti on by them i s a bi t l i ke defi ni ng the Uni ted Sta tes a s Ka ns a s .

Wri ng “ The Sta rs Bel ow,” I thought I knew wha t I wa s doi ng. As i n the ea rl y s tory “ The Ma s ters ,” I wa s tel l i ng a s tory not a bout a gi mmi ck or devi ce or hypothes i s , but a bout s ci ence i ts el f— the i dea of s ci ence. And a bout wha t ha ppens to the i dea of s ci ence when i t meets u erl y oppos ed a nd powerful i dea s , embodi ed i n government, a s when s eventeenth-century a s tronomy ra n up a ga i ns t the Pope, or gene cs i n the 1930s ra n up a ga i ns t Sta l i n. But a l l thi s wa s ca s t a s a ps ychomyth, a s tory outs i de rea l me, pa s t or future, i n pa rt to genera l i ze i t, a nd i n pa rt beca us e I wa s a l s o us i ng s ci ence a s a s ynonym for a rt. Wha t ha ppens to the crea ti ve mi nd when i t i s dri ven underground?

Tha t wa s the ques on, a nd I thought I knew my a ns wer. It a l l s eemed s tra i gh orwa rd, a mere a l l egory, rea l l y. But you don’t go expl ori ng the pl a ces underground a l l tha t ea s i l y. The s ymbol s you thought were s i mpl e equi va l ences , s i gns , come a l i ve, a nd ta ke on mea ni ngs you di d not i ntend a nd ca nnot expl a i n. Long a er I wrote the s tory I ca me on a pa s s a ge i n Jung’s On the Na ture of the Ps yche: “We woul d do wel l to thi nk of egocons ci ous nes s a s bei ng s urrounded by a mul tude of l i l e l umi nos i es .... Intros pec ve i ntui ons ... ca pture the s ta te of the uncons ci ous : The s ta r-s trewn hea vens , s ta rs reflected i n da rk wa ter, nuggets of gol d or gol den s a nd s ca ered i n bl a ck ea rth.” And he quotes from a n a l chemi s t, “Semi na te a urum i n terra m a l ba m fol i a ta m”—the preci ous meta l s trewn i n the l a yers of whi te cl a y.

Perha ps thi s s tory i s not a bout s ci ence, or a bout a rt, but a bout the mi nd, my mi nd, a ny mi nd, tha t turns i nwa rd to i ts el f.

The wooden hous e a nd outbui l di ngs ca ught fire fa s t, bl a zed up, burned down, but the dome, bui l t of l a the a nd pl a s ter a bove a drum of bri ck, woul d not burn. Wha t they di d a t l a s t wa s hea p up the wrecka ge of the tel es copes , the i ns truments , the books a nd cha rts a nd dra wi ngs , i n the mi ddl e of the floor under the dome, pour oi l on the hea p, a nd s et fire to tha t. The fla mes s prea d to the wooden bea ms of the bi g tel es cope fra me a nd to the cl ockwork mecha ni s ms . Vi l l a gers wa tchi ng from the foot of the hi l l s a w the dome, whi s h a ga i ns t the green eveni ng s ky, s hudder a nd turn, firs t i n one di rec on then i n the other, whi l e a bl a ck a nd yel l ow s moke ful l of s pa rks gus hed from the obl ong s l i t: a n ugl y a nd unca nny thi ng to s ee.

It wa s ge ng da rk, s ta rs were s howi ng i n the ea s t. Orders were s houted. The s ol di ers ca me down the roa d i n s i ngl e fil e, da rk men i n da rk ha rnes s , s i l ent.

The vi l l a gers a t the foot of the hi l l s ta yed on a er the s ol di ers ha d gone. In a l i fe wi thout cha nge or brea dth a fire i s a s good a s a fes va l . They di d not cl i mb the hi l l , a nd a s the ni ght grew ful l da rk they drew cl os er together. A er a whi l e they bega n to go ba ck to thei r vi l l a ges . Some l ooked ba ck over thei r s houl ders a t the hi l l , where nothi ng moved. The s ta rs turned s l owl y behi nd the bl a ck beehi ve of the dome, but i t di d not turn to fol l ow them.

About a n hour before da ybrea k a ma n rode up the s teep zi gza g, di s mounted by the rui ns of the works hops , a nd a pproa ched the dome on foot. The door ha d been s ma s hed i n. Through i t a reddi s h ha ze of l i ght wa s vi s i bl e, very di m, comi ng from a ma s s i ve s upport-bea m tha t ha d fa l l en a nd ha d s mol dered a l l ni ght i nwa rd to i ts core. A ha ngi ng, s our s moke thi ckened the a i r i ns i de the dome. A ta l l figure moved there a nd i ts s ha dow moved wi th i t, ca s t upwa rd on the murk. Some mes i t s tooped, or s topped, then bl undered s l owl y on.

The ma n a t the door s a i d: “Guenna r! Ma s ter Guenna r!”

The ma n i n the dome s topped s l l , l ooki ng towa rds the door. He ha d jus t pi cked up s omethi ng from the mes s of wrecka ge a nd ha l f-burnt s tuff on the floor. He put thi s object mecha ni ca l l y i nto hi s coa t pocket, s l l peeri ng a t the door. He ca me towa rds i t. Hi s eyes were red a nd s wol l en a l mos t s hut, he brea thed ha rs hl y i n ga s ps , hi s ha i r a nd cl othes were s corched a nd s mea red wi th bl a ck a s h.

“Where were you?”

The ma n i n the dome poi nted va guel y a t the ground.

“ There’s a cel l a r? Tha t’s where you were duri ng the fire? By God! Gone to ground! I knew i t, I knew you’d be here.” Bord l a ughed, a l i ttl e cra zi l y, ta ki ng Guenna r’s a rm. “Come on. Come out of there, for the l ove of God. There’s l i ght i n the ea s t a l rea dy.”

The a s tronomer ca me rel ucta ntl y, l ooki ng not a t the grey ea s t but ba ck up a t the s l i t i n the dome, where a few s ta rs burned cl ea r. Bord pul l ed hi m outs i de, ma de hi m mount the hors e, a nd then, bri dl e i n ha nd, s et off down the hi l l l ea di ng the hors e a t a fa s t wa l k.

The a s tronomer hel d the pommel wi th one ha nd. The other ha nd, whi ch ha d been burned a cros s the pa l m a nd fingers when he pi cked up a meta l fra gment s l l red-hot under i ts coa t of ci nders , he kept pres s ed a ga i ns t hi s thi gh. He wa s not cons ci ous of doi ng s o, or of the pa i n. Some mes hi s s ens es tol d hi m, “I a m on hors eba ck,” or, “It’s ge ng l i ghter,” but thes e fra gmenta ry mes s a ges ma de no s ens e to hi m. He s hi vered wi th col d a s the da wn wi nd ros e, ra l i ng the da rk woods by whi ch the two men a nd the hors e now pa s s ed i n a deep l a ne overhung by tea s el a nd bri a r; but the woods , the wi nd, the whi teni ng s ky, the col d were a l l remote from hi s mi nd, i n whi ch there wa s nothi ng but a da rknes s s hot wi th the reek a nd hea t of burni ng.

Bord ma de hi m di s mount. There wa s s unl i ght a round them now, l yi ng l ong on rocks a bove a ri ver va l l ey. There wa s a da rk pl a ce, a nd Bord urged hi m a nd pul l ed hi m i nto the da rk pl a ce. It wa s not hot a nd cl os e there but col d a nd s i l ent. As s oon a s Bord l et hi m s top he s a nk down, for hi s knees woul d not bea r; a nd he fel t the col d rock a ga i ns t hi s s ea red a nd throbbi ng ha nds .

“Gone to ea rth, by God!” s a i d Bord, l ooki ng a bout a t the vei ned wa l l s , ma rked wi th the s ca rs of mi ners ' pi cks , i n the l i ght of hi s l a nterned ca ndl e. “I’l l be ba ck; a er da rk, ma ybe. Don’t come out. Don’t go fa rther i n. Thi s i s a n ol d a di t, they ha ven’t worked thi s end of the mi ne for yea rs . Ma y be s l i ps a nd pi a l l s i n thes e ol d tunnel s . Don’t come out! Li e l ow. When the hounds a re gone, we’l l run you a cros s the border.”

Bord turned a nd went ba ck up the a di t i n da rknes s . When the s ound of hi s s teps ha d l ong s i nce di ed a wa y, the a s tronomer l i ed hi s hea d a nd l ooked a round hi m a t the da rk wa l l s a nd the l i l e burni ng ca ndl e. Pres entl y he bl ew i t out. There ca me upon hi m the ea rth-s mel l i ng da rknes s , s i l ent a nd compl ete. He s a w green s ha pes , ocherous bl ots dri i ng on the bl a ck; thes e fa ded s l owl y. The dul l , chi l l bl a ck wa s ba l m to hi s i nfl a med a nd a chi ng eyes , a nd to hi s mi nd.

If he thought, s i tti ng there i n the da rk, hi s thoughts found no words . He wa s feveri s h from exha us ti on a nd s moke i nha l a ti on a nd a few s l i ght burns , a nd i n a n a bnorma l condi on of mi nd; but perha ps hi s mi nd’s worki ngs , though l uci d a nd s erene, ha d never been norma l . It i s not norma l for a ma n to s pend twenty yea rs gri ndi ng l ens es , bui l di ng tel es copes , peeri ng a t s ta rs , ma ki ng ca l cul a ons , l i s ts , ma ps a nd cha rts of thi ngs whi ch no one knows or ca res a bout, thi ngs whi ch ca nnot be rea ched, or touched, or hel d. And now a l l he ha d s pent hi s l i fe on wa s gone, burned. Wha t wa s l eft of hi m mi ght a s wel l be, a s i t wa s , buri ed.

But i t di d not occur to hi m, thi s i dea of bei ng buri ed. Al l he wa s keenl y a wa re of wa s a grea t burden of a nger a nd gri ef, a burden he wa s unfit to ca rry. It wa s crus hi ng hi s mi nd, crus hi ng out rea s on. And the da rknes s here s eemed to rel i eve tha t pres s ure. He wa s a ccus tomed to the da rk, he ha d l i ved a t ni ght. The wei ght here wa s onl y rock, onl y ea rth. No gra ni te i s s o ha rd a s ha tred a nd no cl a y s o col d a s cruel ty. The ea rth’s bl a ck i nnocence enfol ded hi m. He l a y down wi thi n i t, trembl i ng a l i l e wi th pa i n a nd wi th rel i ef from pa i n, a nd s l ept.

Li ght wa ked hi m. Count Bord wa s there, l i gh ng the ca ndl e wi th fli nt a nd s teel . Bord’s fa ce wa s vi vi d i n the l i ght: the hi gh col or a nd bl ue eyes of a keen hunts ma n, a red mouth, s ens ua l a nd obs na te. “ They’re on the s cent,” he wa s s a yi ng. “ They know you got a wa y.”

“Why...” s a i d the a s tronomer. Hi s voi ce wa s wea k; hi s throa t, l i ke hi s eyes , wa s s ti l l s moke-i nfl a med. “Why a re they a fter me?” “Why? Do you s l l need tel l i ng? To burn you a l i ve, ma n! For heres y!” Bord’s bl ue eyes gl a red through the s tea dyi ng gl ow of the ca ndl e.

“But i t’s gone, burned, a l l I di d.”

“Aye, the ea rth’s s topped, a l l ri ght, but where’s thei r fox? They wa nt thei r fox! But da mned i f I’l l l et them get you.” The a s tronomer’s eyes , l i ght a nd wi de-s et, met hi s a nd hel d. “Why?”

“You thi nk I’m a fool ,” Bord s a i d wi th a gri n tha t wa s not a s mi l e, a wol f ’s gri n, the gri n of the hunted a nd the hunter. “And I a m one. I wa s a fool to wa rn you. You never l i s tened. I wa s a fool to l i s ten to you. But I l i ked to l i s ten to you. I l i ked to hea r you ta l k a bout the s ta rs a nd the cours es of the pl a nets a nd the ends of me. Who el s e ever ta l ked to me of a nythi ng but s eed corn a nd cow dung? Do you s ee? And I don’t l i ke s ol di ers a nd s tra ngers , a nd tri a l s a nd burni ngs . Your truth, thei r truth, wha t do I know a bout the truth? Am I a ma s ter? Do I know the cours es of the s ta rs ? Ma ybe you do. Ma ybe they do. Al l I know i s you ha ve s a t a t my ta bl e a nd ta l ked to me. Am I to wa tch you burn? God’s fire, they s a y; but you s a i d the s ta rs a re the fires of God. Why do you a s k me tha t, ‘Why?’ Why do you a s k a fool ’s ques ti on of a fool ?”

“I a m s orry,” the a s tronomer s a i d.

“Wha t do you know a bout men?” the count s a i d. “You thought they’d l et you be. And you thought I’d l et you burn.” He l ooked a t Guenna r through the ca ndl el i ght, gri nni ng l i ke a dri ven wol f, but i n hi s bl ue eyes there wa s a gl i nt of rea l a mus ement. “We who l i ve down on the ea rth, you s ee, not up a mong the s ta rs ...”

He ha d brought a nderbox a nd three ta l l ow ca ndl es , a bo l e of wa ter, a ba l l of pea s -puddi ng, a s a ck of brea d. He l e s oon, wa rni ng the a s tronomer a ga i n not to venture out of the mi ne.

When Guenna r woke a ga i n a s tra ngenes s i n hi s s i tua on troubl ed hi m, not one whi ch woul d ha ve worri ed mos t peopl e hi di ng i n a hol e to s a ve thei r s ki ns , but mos t di s tres s i ng to hi m: he di d not know the ti me.

It wa s not cl ocks he mi s s ed, the s weet ba ngi ng of the church bel l s i n the vi l l a ges ca l l i ng to morni ng a nd eveni ng pra yer, the del i ca te a nd wi l l i ng a ccura cy of the mepi eces he us ed i n hi s obs erva tory a nd on whos e refinement s o ma ny of hi s di s coveri es ha d depended; i t wa s not the cl ocks he mi s s ed, but the grea t cl ock.

Not s eei ng the s ky, one ca nnot know the turni ng of the ea rth. Al l the proces s es of me, the s un’s bri ght a rch a nd the moon’s pha s es , the pl a net’s da nce, the wheel i ng of the cons tel l a ons a round the pol e s ta r, the va s ter wheel i ng of the s ea s ons of the s ta rs , a l l thes e were l os t, the wa rp on whi ch hi s l i fe wa s woven.

Here there wa s no ti me.

“O my God,” Guenna r the a s tronomer pra yed i n the da rknes s under ground, “how ca n i t offend you to be pra i s ed? Al l I ever s a w i n my tel es copes wa s one s pa rk of your gl ory, one l ea s t fra gment of the order of your crea on. You coul d not be jea l ous of tha t, my Lord! And there were few enough who bel i eved me, even s o. Wa s i t my a rroga nce i n da ri ng to des cri be your works ? But how coul d I hel p i t, Lord, when you l et me s ee the endl es s fiel ds of s ta rs ? Coul d I s ee a nd be s i l ent? O my God, do not puni s h me a ny more, l et me rebui l d the s ma l l er tel es cope. I wi l l not s pea k, I wi l l not publ i s h, i f i t troubl es your hol y Church. I wi l l not s a y a nythi ng more a bout the orbi ts of the pl a nets or the na ture of the s ta rs . I wi l l not s pea k, Lord, onl y l et me s ee!”

“Wha t the devi l , be qui et, Ma s ter Guenna r. I coul d hea r you ha l fwa y up the tunnel ,” s a i d Bord, a nd the a s tronomer opened hi s eyes to the da zzl e of Bord’s l a ntern. “ They’ve ca l l ed the ful l hunt up for you. Now you’re a necroma ncer. They s wea r they s a w you s l eepi ng i n your hous e when they ca me, a nd they ba rred the doors ; but there’s no bones i n the a s hes .”

“I wa s a s l eep,” Guenna r s a i d, coveri ng hi s eyes . “ They ca me, the s ol di ers .... I s houl d ha ve l i s tened to you. I went i nto the pa s s a ge under the dome. I l e a pa s s a ge there s o I coul d go ba ck to the hea rth on col d ni ghts , when i t’s col d my fingers get too s ff, I ha ve to go wa rm my ha nds s ome mes .” He s prea d out hi s bl i s tered, bl a ckened ha nds a nd l ooked a t them va guel y. “ Then I hea rd them overhea d....”

“Here’s s ome more food. Wha t the devi l , ha ven’t you ea ten?” “Ha s i t been l ong?”

“A ni ght a nd a da y. It’s ni ght now. Ra i ni ng. Li s ten, Ma s ter: there’s two of the bl a ck hounds l i vi ng a t my hous e now. Emi s s a ri es of the Counci l , wha t the devi l , I ha d to offer hos pi ta l i ty. Thi s i s my county, they’re here, I’m the count. It ma kes i t ha rd for me to come. And I don’t wa nt to s end a ny of my peopl e here. Wha t i f the pri es ts a s ked them, ‘Do you know where he i s ? Wi l l you a ns wer to God you don’t know where he i s ?’ It’s bes t they don’t know. I’l l come when I ca n. You’re a l l ri ght here? You’l l s ta y here? I’l l get you out of here a nd over the border when they’ve cl ea red a wa y. They’re l i ke fli es now. Don’t ta l k a l oud l i ke tha t. They mi ght l ook i nto thes e ol d tunnel s . You s houl d go fa rther i n. I wi l l come ba ck. Sta y wi th God, Ma s ter.”

“Go wi th God, count.”

He s a w the col or of Bord’s bl ue eyes , the l ea p of s ha dows up the rough-hewn roof a s he took up the l a ntern a nd turned a wa y. Li ght a nd col or di ed a s Bord, a t the turni ng, put out the l a ntern. Guenna r hea rd hi m s tumbl e a nd s wea r a s he groped hi s wa y. Pres entl y Guenna r l i ghted one of hi s ca ndl es a nd a te a nd dra nk a l i l e, ea ng the s ta l er brea d firs t, a nd brea ki ng off a pi ece of the crus ted l ump of pea s -puddi ng. Thi s me Bord ha d brought hi m three l oa ves a nd s ome s a l t mea t, two more ca ndl es a nd a s econd s ki n bo l e of wa ter, a nd a hea vy duffle cl oa k. Guenna r ha d not fel t col d. He wa s wea ri ng the coa t he a l wa ys wore on col d ni ghts i n the obs erva tory a nd very o en s l ept i n, when he ca me s tumbl i ng to bed a t da wn. It wa s a good s heeps ki n, fil thy